I consider writing as a form of therapy. It’s calming, it’s a way to temporarily escape from the real world, and it makes my heart come alive. Writing is my passion; therefore, I come alive inside whenever I’m doing it.
Sometimes I’ll write the “old-fashioned” way: with a pen and a notebook. The rhythm and the physical motion of writing by hand is somehow relaxing.
The familiar rhythm.
The familiar dark blue ink on the crisp white background.
The familiar sense of calm that comes over me as the tip of the pen scratches across the surface of the paper.
The familiar forms of the letters taking shape as the thoughts in my head are magically transferred onto the page.
The familiar feeling of being transported to a familiar place where adventure is waiting around every corner to take me to the unfamiliar.
The familiar realization that the cheap piece of plastic in my hand is in fact a weapon – a paintbrush which paints worlds which no one has ever seen before except for me – or perhaps it is a weapon which brings life rather than death – or it is a magic wand which keeps the power to either create or destroy literally right at my fingertips.
In fact, I actually wrote all the above random, somewhat-poetic-sounding things with my favorite pen. Sometimes I just like writing with pens, you know… all writers have their quirks, and having a slight, odd obsession with pens is one of mine. So I picked up this brand new pen. It was my favorite kind, which is just a plain old blue ballpoint pen – I will rarely write with anything else – and I started writing with it. I wrote about what happens to me when I write. Unfortunately, I wrote on the first piece of paper within sight, which happened to be a piece of scrap paper. I think I may have accidentally thrown it away a few days ago, but luckily I had read over it several times and so I remember the general ideas I had written down. There are probably a bunch that I’m not recalling, though.
Besides the act of writing itself being calming, I find that the mental transition is also very calming. As I write, I am transporting myself to another world – a world where I am in complete control when I feel I have no control over my own life. A world where, for a little while at least, I have no problems to worry about except those of my characters. Writing is my escape sometimes.
But it is so much more than that. When I write, I take myself to a world completely of my own making. A world which no human eye has ever, ever seen before. A world in a completely different universe where people still believe in magic, or where time and space themselves behave differently, or where the lives of imaginary characters play out in one massive plot. It is all imaginary, and yet to the writer is is all very, very real.
Most writers, myself included, are introverts. Writing is a way to share myself with the world. I usually don’t share my thoughts with very many people, so writing is a way to do that. I can write my heart out. It’s very freeing sometimes to be able to do that. And this blog I started not that long ago is a way for me to write my heart out. Fictional stories only go so far. Before long, you start to want to share more of your life with the world. This is a way to let me share my passions and my deeper thoughts with the world.
And still, writing, to me, is so much more. Writing is what makes my heart come alive. Writing is my passion. I have many passions, like learning about quantum physics (yes, I know I’m crazy), and anything to do with Great Britain in general. But writing tops them all. My passion for God and the Gospel also tops them all.
When I was fourteen, I wrote a story which was different than any other story I had ever written before. This story had depth; this story had meaning. This story changed me. I realized that writing was what I wanted to do with my life, at least for the next several years. I realized that writing was what made my heart come alive.
And the best part is that, through writing, I can share my faith. If the story doesn’t have a meaning, it is, well, meaningless. If it lacks the truth of the Gospel, it somehow doesn’t mean as much. Like I’ve said before, readers like to see the truths that are written on their hearts. Redemption. If redemption is written on their hearts, then wouldn’t it make sense that writing your heart out involves some great, dramatic story about the very truths that have been in place since before the beginning of time? If the Gospel is written on our hearts, then doesn’t it makes sense that writing your heart out involves writing a story about the Gospel?
So go on. Write your heart out. I’m challenging you.